


Marked Hearts

by dreamshadow



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: AU, Coffee Shops, Drama, F/M, Fluff, Romance, Soulmates, Three plus One, creepy dudes in bars, makeout sessions, matching tattoos, moderate angst, modern setting: college
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-14
Updated: 2018-09-14
Packaged: 2019-07-12 00:57:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15984173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamshadow/pseuds/dreamshadow
Summary: Three times Clarke Griffin didn't believe in soulmates.And one time she did.--For MadiMalfoy's Soulmate AU and Random Prompt Challenge.





	Marked Hearts

**Author's Note:**

> Soulmate AU -- soulmates have matching tattoo designs  
> Random Prompt -- modern college/university setting
> 
> \--
> 
> beta'd by claireevergreen ♥
> 
> * * *

Soulmates were a myth.  They were said to be so rare that no one actually believed in their magic anymore, and anyone with marks etched on their skin when they turned sixteen was told that it was nothing but a faded scar.  Most of the time, the marks didn’t grow darker, and everyone assumed that it was because the idea of soulmates and true love were just part of the stories their parents them as children to keep them comforted at night, that they wouldn’t end up alone in this world with no one to love or grow a family with.

Clarke Griffin had never believed those stories -- her parents were happily married, at least until her father died, and the man her mother was seeing now was a good man.  One of the few good politicians out there, but she didn’t believe that he was actually her mother’s  _soulmate._

When her girlfriend of two years broke up with her before her freshman year at Arkadia University, Clarke had been devastated. Lexa had always been so threatened by the idea of Clarke finding her soulmate at college that she was convinced they would steal her heart away, and no matter how many times Clarke tried to convince her otherwise, it drove a wedge so far between them that the damage was irreversible.  

Soulmates were supposed to be a myth -- and yet, Clarke found herself checking the small marks etched on her wrist a little too frequently for someone who didn’t believe.  For an entire year, the marks didn’t grow darker or larger; they stayed exactly the same, leaving Clarke with a fresh wave of frustration and heartbreak at her failed relationship.

The marks on her skin didn’t begin to darken until halfway through her freshman year at Arkadia University -- and she didn’t even notice.  
  
  


* * *

 

Clarke’s eyes felt like they were going to bleed out of their sockets if she tried to color another page of the human anatomy.  She glanced up, and rubbing her eyes, she noticed life had sprung up around her in the coffee house.  People talked to each other across the small, wooden tables that scattered around the edge of the shop; people lounged on the couches by the fireplace, reading or typing away on laptops.  The distinctive sound of milk hitting against the silver pitchers they used for lattes roared every so often, and she couldn’t help but smile briefly at the comfort that this coffee shop had brought her the last few years; it was the perfect home away from home when she needed to be out of her house and wasn’t at classes or working at the bar.

There was a dull, throbbing ache in her head and she blinked once, the lines on the coloring page turning fuzzy.  It was time for another caffeine break, and when she got up, her muscles protested quietly.  She didn’t know how long she’d been here, exactly, but it was long enough to warrant a good stretch of her arms before she went over to the wooden counter.  Behind her, the setting sun was casting beautiful shades of purple and pink through the huge window that faced the front of the street, and students were slowly allowing Polis to come to life as classes and internships ended for the day.

She glanced at the time on her watch, and she wasn’t surprised to see it was already almost seven o’clock.  She sighed and went back over to the counter, where the dark haired barista was standing, in the middle of building a fort made out of plastic straws.

“Having a productive day, I see,” Clarke remarked, grateful that everyone else in the shop was sitting at tables or waiting for drinks to be made.  She didn’t have time to waste in line.

“At least I don’t look like a vampire,” he retorted, barely moving his hands as he was carefully trying to place a wooden stirrer on the very top of what looked like could be a condo.  “Have you even seen the sun at all today, or have you been here since we opened?”

“I have finals,” she snapped. “Some that require actual studying.”

“I study too, Princess,” he replied, finally looking up at her.  He was certainly attractive, in a way that was both conventional and impossible to pull off wearing a black tee-shirt and a red apron with a tan baseball hat to cover his hair.  “I see the way your eyebrows knot forward when you’re looking at something you don’t understand and the way you get irritable right before I give you your next caffeine fix. You should feel lucky I haven’t switched you over to decaf.”

“If you spent half the time actually helping your customers as much as you do stalking me, maybe you’d get better tips.”

“As it happens, I’m good at my job, contrary to whatever you think,” he said, his voice calm as he grabbed the largest Styrofoam cup there.  He took a black sharpie and started writing her order on it. “Y’know, if you want to try and sleep, doctors recommend cutting back caffeine.”

“And you’re a doctor now?” she asked, hearing the disbelieving clip in her voice. Her eyes wandered over to his hand, where he was now writing her name on the cup.   _Princess._   “I have a name, y’know.”

“So do I,” he said, handing off the cup to his co-worker.  She recognized him from around campus; he was a little shorter than the barista, with Asian coloring and short, dark hair.  It was a lot neater than the barista’s, though, even with most of it hidden behind the cap.  “Do you even know what it is? You’ve been coming here since I started working here almost every day.”

“She’s been coming here longer than that, B--” his co-worker began, but the barista shot him a look before he let the name slip.

“You started here like a month ago,” Clarke replied dismissively. “What does this have to do with anything? I just want to get my coffee and go back to my textbooks, thanks.”

“Is that how you get all the boys to go out with you?” the barista asked, smirking slightly at her.

“Maybe I don’t like boys.”

“How unfortunate,” he replied, smirking at her as he started ringing her out.  

She rolled her eyes, not bothering with a response as she pulled out the cash from her wallet. He glanced down at her hand as he took the payment, eyes lingering on her wrist. 

His smirk grew slightly as he gave her back the change, their eyes locking again.  The noise died down, and Clarke watched as the milk was being poured into the cup as the person behind her in line stepped forward to order.  She grabbed her coffee when it was ready, and just before she went to go back to her table, she cast a glance over her shoulder at him.

“Your name’s Bellamy, by the way. In case you forgot,” she called, smiling slightly to herself as she went back to her table and prepared herself for another few hours of studying and naming body parts.  But every so often, she glanced back over at the counter, watching him interact with his fellow baristas and flirt his way through every coffee order.

She’d, of course, noticed his name on the second or third time she’d come into this particular coffee house -- it stood out to her, but since he insisted on writing  _Princess_ on her cup for the last six months, she insisted on pretending she hadn’t noticed his name, either.

She could hear Murphy’s voice in her head chide her for drooling as she went back to work, all the while completely oblivious to the mark growing a shade darker and forming a small shape on her wrist.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
Sophomore year ended with mixed emotions.  On one hand, she was excited to be done with another year of school and eager to learn more about medicine, but she was equal parts terrified at the thought of leaving Arkadia behind in just two short years.  After this, she was destined to go to medical school for another four years, and then who knew after that -- all she knew was that she was going to be in school for a very long time before she could actually be doing something productive in the medical field, and she knew med school was going to be different.

Most of her classmates were celebrating the end of finals by getting drunk and not showing up to their last days of classes, but Clarke had one more exam before she was free. Even then, she wasn’t  free from work -- she had a few more shifts before she went home for the summer, and that was where she was on that last Friday night.

The Dropship was one of the more popular bars among Polis State students; Arkadians tended to prefer one of the bars further up Main Street.  She’d been working here since last semester, when she wanted to make extra money to help pay her way through med school, and one of the benefits of being here rather than another place was that she wasn’t often waiting on her drunken classmates.  And this way, she got to know more students in Polis, too -- and as it turned out, Bellamy the barista loved to frequent this side of town with his partners in crime, Raven Reyes and Jasper Jordan.

They were here tonight -- already laughing and drawing a crowd as Raven began building a pyramid out of shot glasses.  Clarke couldn’t help but roll her eyes at them, though they often wandered over to their table more times than they should.  

“Hello there, beautiful,” a man commented, perching himself on the barstool right in front of her as she wiped the counter down.  “What’s a guy like me gotta do to get himself a drink from you around here?”

“Order. What can I get for you tonight?” she asked, keeping her tone light.  Out of the corner of her eye, she watched as Raven started to carefully build the upper part of the pyramid. It was impressive already; they had it eight-glasses deep, and Clarke was beginning to think Bellamy enjoyed building things when he was bored.

“Bourbon on the rocks,” he replied, and she could  _feel_ his eyes raking all over her.  She vaguely regretted wearing the low-cut black shirt tonight, but usually it got her more tips.

“Coming right up,” Clarke responded, grabbing the glass from behind the bar. She filled the glass with ice, then started pouring the whisky.

“That’s a nice tattoo,” the man commented, hand reaching across to her right hand, which was resting on the bar.  Without asking, he gently caressed his thumb along the ink, which was just beginning to form a moon in a star tattoo.  She had started to notice it at the beginning of this year, but she could never pinpoint when the marks grew darker; it seemed to happen almost every day.  “Who’s lucky enough to be your soulmate? Last I heard they were extinct.”

“Apparently they’re not,” she replied, finishing pouring the whisky and handing him the glass, taking her hand out of his grip.  Soulmarks were supposed to be a vulnerable part of oneself, and she didn’t like the idea of some stranger placing his hands all over her mark, a place that was supposed to be intimate -- if she were to believe the stories.  Even if she didn’t, though, it was ironic to think that Lexa had been right after all.  “Not that it’s any of your business, but I don’t buy into the whole soulmate thing. It’s bullshit.”

Just then, cheers erupted from Bellamy’s table, and Clarke looked over, seeing that Raven was a shotglass away from reaching the top of an amazing twelve-glass pyramid. She was starting to wonder who had all of those drinks.  She caught herself smiling as she moved to get away from the man to help other patrons in the bar; her co-worker, Kyle Wick, was flirting with some girls at the other side and had everything covered, but she wanted an excuse to get away from him.  She didn’t like talking about soulmates or relationships with anyone.

“Clarke!” Jasper exclaimed, suddenly in front of her and looking a little flustered, his brown eyes shining.  “We need another shot - c’mon, Raven’s almost got the pyramid built!”

“I see that,” she said, laughing.  “How many of those have you had, Jasper?”

“One more isn’t going to kill me,” he insisted. “Besides, Bell’s driving me home, so it’s not like you have to worry about that. We just needs it for the pyramid.”

Clarke eyed him carefully. He sounded coherent enough, and there was a large group of them -- she highly doubted that Jasper had all eleven shots by himself.  “I’ll give you a shot,” she said, deciding a shot of water would be best -- and it wouldn’t matter what was in the glass if it was for a pyramid.  Deciding she’d risk Jasper getting mad at her, she pulled another glass from behind the bar and filled it up before handing it to him.  “It’s vodka.”

“You’re the best!” he called before rushing back over to the table, presenting the glass with his arms raised.

The man drinking bourbon chuckled.  “You think he’s too drunk to notice that’s water instead of  vodka?” he asked, taking another sip of his own drink.

Clarke’s eyes scanned the bar, watching as people danced and flirted and fought.  It was an average night out in Polis, and she was used to customers -- men and women alike -- talking to her for her entire shift, but she wasn’t getting a great vibe from this guy.  She smiled at him regardless, feeling confident she could handle anything. And she was working with Wick, who wasn’t the best at dealing with creepy older guys, but at least he was a guy she could switch with if she felt too uncomfortable to serve him.

“The water won’t hurt him, anyway,” she replied, shrugging.  She moved to attend to some of her customers further down the bar and the man shot his hand out, catching her wrist, fingers dangerously near her tattoo.

“C’mon, princess,” he began, his grey eyes boring into her. He gave her a smile, loosening his grip.  “Don’t you want to stay and talk to me?”

The nickname had an effect; her eyes immediately found Bellamy in the crowd, and while he wasn’t what an average person would call a friend, they’d at least gotten out of the phase where they roasted each other whenever they saw each other at the coffee house -- almost every day.  She tolerated it when Bellamy called her  _princess_ , but she hated it from anyone else.  
  
It was almost as if Bellamy could feel his eyes on her, because in that exact moment, his dark eyes found hers from across the room.  With a subtle tilt of his head and a raised eyebrow, his eyes moved to the man in front of Clarke.  She shook her head once; she had this covered, but it was comforting to know he was nearby.

“It’s a busy night,” Clarke said, hoping to end the conversation.  

“You’ll get a big tip from me,” the man continued, tightening his grip slightly on her wrist.  He started rubbing his thumb along her skin and Clarke jerked away, pulling away from him.

“I appreciate the offer, but I’m not a psychology student.  I’m not qualified to give you any advice.”

The man scanned her up and down. “I think you’re  _plenty_ qualified to give me the attention I’m looking for.”

“I don’t offer those sort of services, and I need to get back to my other customers, Sir,” she replied, clenching her jaw slightly.  “You might want to try the club down the street for that.”

“C’mon, just a kiss,” he replied, a slight hint of desperation in his voice as he began to lean forward. “I won’t tell.”

Clarke leaned forward, her arms resting against the bar as she moved closer to him, knowing he had a great view of her chest. “The bourbon you’re drinking is worth way more than a kiss,” she replied, keeping her eyes trained on his.  “Now you can either pay and get out like a civilized man, or I’ll personally kick your perverted ass out of my bar.”

“Maybe you could give me my drink’s worth, then,” he responded, almost closing the remaining distance between them.

She could feel his breath on her face, his lips just barely close enough to touch.  Resisting the urge to slap him, Clarke placed her hands on the bar before taking two large steps back from him, letting him hang across the bar, ready for a kiss like an idiot.  That was when she noticed Bellamy standing there, leaning against the bar and glancing over at her.

“Everything alright here, Clarke?” he asked, a protective edge to his voice as he watched the man realize that she wasn’t actually kiss him.

“Bitch,” he growled.

“I had it covered, thanks,” she replied stiffly, watching the man.  

“Did you?” Bellamy replied, glancing over at her with a slight hint of amusement. “It looked like you could use some help.”

“Who the hell are you?” the man demanded, sounding like Bellamy had actually interrupted a precious moment.  “Her boyfriend?”

“No. It doesn’t matter who I am - what matters is you should get the hell out before she makes you,” he said. “I’ve seen her kick out guys twice your size, so don’t think she won’t.”

“She will, huh?” he asked, glancing back over at Clarke.  “Then what are you here for?”

“Making sure you don’t do anything stupid.”

“Bellamy --”

“What a good little knight,” the man replied, interrupting her as he chuckled.  “Rushing to his princess’ side.”*

Before she knew it, Bellamy threw the first punch -- the man stumbled back from his chair and cursed. She was about to protest when the man shot up again and tackled Bellamy to the floor, punching him back, and there was the sound and scuffle of fists being thrown before a crowd had joined in, some yelling “fight!”.  

Everything was a blur.  She didn’t know how she’d gone from a typical night at The Dropship to Bellamy the  _barista_ ‘defending her honor’ to some creep she probably could have handled on her own, but suddenly Murphy was there, pulling Bellamy out of the fight as Wick grabbed the man by his shoulders.  The two of them pulled the fighters apart, and Bellamy had a black eye, but otherwise looked intact.  The man, however, was sporting what looked like two black eyes and a broken nose.

“Both of you need to get out,” Wick snarled, sounding surprisingly tough.

“Seriously, Bellamy? You’re usually the one pulling  _me_  out of fights,” Murphy replied, holding onto his shoulders tightly to make sure he didn’t lunge at the man.  

“I’m fine,” he growled.  “You’re seriously kicking me out, Wick?”

“From where I stand, you threw the first punch.  Now you both need to get out,” Wick replied, pushing them towards the exist.

The crowd Bellamy was with had dispersed, but Jasper and Raven were the first at his side, asking questions and demanding to know what happened as Bellamy followed dutifully out of the bar.  Clarke watched him as he went, meeting his eyes as he cast a glance over his shoulder at her.  There was something knowing in his eyes, something she couldn’t quite read, as Jasper and Raven followed him out of the bar; she remembered what Jasper had said about Bellamy driving, and there was a part of her that hoped Raven gave him some ice for the eye.

As life resumed at the bar, Murphy eyed Clarke as she readjusted herself, taking a moment to breathe before going back behind the bar as if nothing happened.  “Always causing trouble, Griffin,” he remarked, grinning as he took a seat in front of her.   
  
“I had it handled,” she grumbled.  “Bellamy didn’t need to show up and be dramatic about it.”

“Of course he did.”  
  
“Can I get you something to drink?” she asked, ignoring him completely. She pulled out a clean glass from behind the bar, resting it on the counter.    
  
“I’ll take a water,” Murphy replied.  “That’s what you gave Jasper, right?"  
  
“He won’t know the difference,” she promised, smirking slightly at him as she started filling his glass with water.  
  
Even as Murphy started asking her questions about her exams, all Clarke could think about was Bellamy throwing that first punch at the old man across from her, and she could feel the man’s touch as he gently grazed her wrist with his thumb.  That actually bothered her more than his kiss had; because it meant that the tattoo was dark enough for others to see it in a dimly lit place.  
  
It meant that her soulmark was complete, and at some point in her two years at Arkadia Universty, she’d met her soulmate -- just as Lexa predicted.  
  
She just had no idea who they were.   
  
  


* * *

   
  
“We’re getting ready to close for the night, Princess,” Bellamy remarked, coming around the coffee house as he wiped down tables.  
  
Most of the customers had cleared out for the evening, but Clarke was still there, putting the finishing touches on a paper that was due on Friday.  Junior year had hit her full-force, and she couldn’t believe she was already starting to prep for her fall midterms.   
  
“Okay, okay, I’m leaving,” she said, hitting ‘ _save_ ’ and looking up at him.  He looked as tired as she felt; not for the first time, she noticed slight bags under his eyes, and she knew they were from his own studying.  Bellamy was a history major with a political science minor and spent half the time with his head buried in books -- something she hadn’t learned about him until sometime last year, when she actually caught him in the town library.  
  
He smiled slightly at her and glanced at the counter, where Monty was wiping down the machines and wrapping the bakecase.  “What are you working on?” he asked, and she noticed how their tones had shifted into something lighter, more comfortable since freshman years.    
  
“Something for my anatomy class,” she replied, rubbing her eyes.  “But it’s almost done, thank God. I just have five hundred other things to do before Friday.”  
  
“Always the way,” he said. “Did you walk again today?”  
  
She shrugged. “I don’t mind. It’s easier than taking a car to campus.”  
  
“I’m only a pre-close, so if you want to hang around for a little, I can drop you anywhere you need to go. You working tonight?”  
  
“No, I just want to get back to the house. Murphy’s gone for the night with Raven, so I’m looking forward to a quiet night of vocabulary lessons. But a ride would be great.”  
  
Bellamy nodded.  “We’ve got some time and I need to make sure Monty’s set okay, but I’ll let you know when I’m ready.”  
  
“That’s fine.  This paper could use a little more work,” Clarke said, managing a small, tired smile at him.     
  
“Wouldn’t kill you to take a break,” he said, moving over so that he was standing next to her.  He placed a hand on her shoulder, giving it a tight squeeze.   
  
“It actually might,” she teased.  She didn’t move, even though she was certain this was the first time Bellamy actually touched her, not counting the many times they’d passed debit cards or cold cash between them with brushes of fingers, lasting perhaps longer than they should have.  
  
Of course, there had been the incident at The Dropship sophomore year, when he’d gotten kicked out for fighting the creepy older man. They hadn’t touched then, but there was that look -- the same knowing look that he’d given her before, like he knew something she didn’t.  
  
There were still men who hit on her, but she found there were surprisingly less when Bellamy and Murphy were around, which was more frequently since that night. She tried to argue she could handle herself well enough without a bodyguard, and he’d argued back that he enjoyed going to The Dropship for the people and the drinks and it had nothing to do with Clarke’s need for protection.   
  
Now, sitting at the coffee house in her usual chair with his hand on her shoulder, she looked up at him, and wondered how they’d gotten here; she was pretty sure she wouldn’t change anything at all. All too soon, he removed his hand from her shoulder, but it was like she could feel his touch lingering on her as he walked back over to behind the coffee bar to help Monty close for the night.  
  
Half an hour later, they were sitting in Bellamy’s Rover as he drove her back to her house, mostly in comfortable silence.    
  
“Make a left at the light,” Clarke instructed.  
  
“Why do you work at The Dropship?” Bellamy asked abruptly, following her instructions as they drove down a narrow sideroad.  “I thought all the students studying at Arkadia were rich.”  
  
“Not all of us,” she replied, glancing over at him.  
  
“Don’t they have a ton of scholarships and stuff, too?” he asked.  
  
“Yeah,” she replied.  She paused for a moment, clearing her throat.  She wanted to tell him; they certainly weren’t strangers anymore, and maybe it would help him understand why she’d gotten so defensive whenever he wrote  _Princess_ on her cup those first few weeks after meeting at the coffee house.  “My father left me money for a college fund, and that covers a lot of the tuition and textbooks and most of my rent. But work gives me more spending money for essentials like food and clothes and anything else I might need, plus I don’t like having a lot of free time.   It tends to drive me crazy.”  
  
“Your father?” he asked, glancing over at her from the driver’s seat.  
  
“Yeah. He died when I was sixteen,” she replied. “My mother’s in a good relationship now, and we get along fine, but sometimes it sucks. I still miss him.”  
  
“I know what you mean,” he replied, his tone surprisingly soft, almost affectionate. “My mom died when I was a kid, so it’s been my and my younger sister since then,” he replied.  His grip on the wheel tightened slightly.  “I didn’t really know my father, but from what I understand, he was kind of a deadbeat so I’m better off. But still, sometimes I think it would’ve been nice to know who he was.”  
  
“Have you ever tried contacting him?” she asked, as he continued to drive in the direction of the house. She wondered if this conversation stemmed from exhaustion -- or if because even though they’d gotten pretty friendly with each other over the last three years, this was one of the few times they were alone.  
  
“Why should I?” he replied.  “He left us when I was five. Octavia doesn’t even have any memories of him -- we’re better off.  I don’t know if he’s still alive, Clarke.  If I start chasing him, I could be chasing ghosts for all I know.”  
  
“Every kid has the right to know their father, Bellamy,” she said.  “Maybe it’s not my place to say this because we don’t know each other very well, but if it were me, I would want to find out who he is.  If anything to find out why he left us and give him a piece of my mind.”  
  
Bellamy focused his eyes on the road, and she could tell his mind was racing at her suggestion.  Sometimes she missed her father so badly it hurt, and coupled with the grief she felt over Wells, her best friend who had died when she was younger, sometimes it hurt so badly she couldn’t breathe.  But at the end of the day, she was thankful for it -- at least she’d had these two great men in her life, had gotten to know and love them, even if they were taken from her too soon.  
  
Clarke cleared her throat, a pull of sadness threatening to suck her down right there in the car. “I’m sorry,” she replied. “It’s not my place. I don’t even know why I brought it up.”  
  
Bellamy finally pulled into the driveway of the house she shared with Murphy.  Although he wasn’t a student anymore (he dropped out sophomore year), he still worked at a garage in town to help Clarke pay rent, and it was better than living in an apartment or on campus.  It was a small, one-story house with two bedrooms, one bathroom (which was challenging at times), and a small living room and even smaller kitchen, but it felt like home to her.  
  
“It’s fine,” he said, letting the engine stall. The porchlight was on, and there wasn’t a second car in the driveway, which meant he was off with Raven somewhere, as promised.  “I asked you the question; I’m the one who started it.”  
  
“It doesn’t matter,” she replied.  “I like getting to know you better -- we’ve only been crossing paths for the last three years and this is one of the first real conversations we’ve ever had.”  
  
“Yeah, well, it’s hard to talk when one of us is working.”  
  
“True,” she agreed, smiling over at him.  “Thanks for the ride, Bellamy.”  
  
Clarke began to climb out of the Rover, her messenger bag sitting in her lap the whole way with her computer.   Before she realized what was happening, Bellamy jumped out of the driver’s side, the engine cut on the Rover.  
  
“What are you doing?” she demanded.  
  
“I’m walking you to your door.”  
  
“I can handle that myself, thanks.”  
  
“I know. But I was hoping that if I walked you to your door, you would invite me inside,” Bellamy replied, and while there was a slight edge of cockiness in his voice, Clarke couldn’t help but feel like it worked for him.  She knew she needed to study, but spending a little more time with Bellamy -- especially after learning they actually had something in common -- seemed a bit more appealing than medical terminology.  
  
“Hmm,” she mused, her tone light as they reached the door.  They stood under the small porch as Clarke dug for her keys, and when she looked up to unlock the door, she caught the way Bellamy was looking at her.  It was an affectionate gaze, his eyes narrowed slightly as he studied her face.  Even in the porchlight, he was gorgeous -- and he thankfully had taken the baseball hat off once they’d left the coffee house, and she noted the way his dark, curly hair seemed to be unruly but perfect and contrasted nicely against his dark skin.  “Bellamy--”  
  
He cut her off, his lips on hers with a fervent need.  Warmth exploded through her veins and she kissed him back without hesitation, arms reaching up around his shoulders as his found their way to her waist, pulling her closer.  Her bag dropped to the floor and she found herself backed against the door, pressed against him as he deepened the kiss, his tongue quickly gaining access to her mouth.  
  
The fingers in her left hand found their way into his hair while her other hand reached behind her and opened the front door, allowing them to stumble through the threshold.  She giggled, and once they regained their balance and she shut the door behind him, he kissed her again, just as passionately as before.  Heat traveled through her body as she moved closer to him, her hands already at the edge of his shirt.  
  
Bellamy read her signals quickly and his hands found her shirt, already lifting it up over her head and tossing it to the side.  Clarke’s hands ran underneath his blue shirt, nails trailing lightly over his skin, causing him to shiver.  His lips moved from hers to her neck, slowly starting to leave his own set of kisses along her skin.  She moaned slightly, her hands finally pulling his shirt off in one fluid motion.   
  
They broke apart to catch their breath, and Clarke looked at him, his abs and arm muscles just as well defined as she imagined they would be.  She could feel his eyes on her as she studied him, her eyes trailing up -- to a peculiar mark on his right chest.  A mark identical to the one on her right wrist.  
  
A half-moon completely encompassed in a star.  
  
A soulmate’s tattoo; identical marks.  
  
_Her_ soulmate’s tattoo.  
  
“Clarke,” Bellamy began, his voice rough.  “Don’t --”  
  
“How long have you known?” she asked, interrupting him.  A wave of emotion came coursing through her, something she couldn’t quite decipher; it was almost like a hint of disbelief mixed with relief and a twinge of anger, all rolled into one.  
  
“The mark was finished in the middle of sophomore year,” he said.  “Right after I got into the fight with the guy at The Dropship, the creepy one that kissed you.”  
  
She shuddered slightly.  “Yeah, I remember,” she grumbled.  “That’s when mine finished too. But there were other people around, I didn’t think -- I can’t believe this is happening.  I can’t believe she was right, after all these years. I thought she was crazy, I thought they were stories…"  
  
“Even with the marks darkening on your own skin? Clarke, c’mon. Soulmates are rare, but they exist. And you’re mine.”  
  
“I am not,” she insisted, forcing herself to look up at him, away from the mark that was proving otherwise.  “I’m not anyone’s. You’ve known this entire time and you never told me?”  
  
“When did you want me to bring it up?! When you were stressed out, studying for finals, or when you were working? You said it yourself -- this is the first time we’ve been really alone together!”  
  
“I don’t know!” she protested. “You could have -- you should’ve just  _told me_ , Bellamy, rather than finding out like this!”  
  
“And what would you have done, Clarke? If I told you sooner?”  
  
“I don’t know.”  
  
“You can’t tell me you’re  _actually_ surprised by this.”  
  
She glared at him, arms crossed.  Her jaw clenched slightly, trying to figure out what to do and figure out why she was so upset about this.  Hadn’t she just wanted to know who her soulmate was, and now that she did, she was pushing him away?  
  
But what if she lost him the same way she lost Lexa?  
  
“Maybe not,” she agreed.  “I think you should leave.”  
  
“Leave? Are you kidding? Just because --”  
  
“Bellamy,” she said, raising her voice slightly, to let him know that she was, in fact, serious. She needed time to process, time to think. Panic was settling in and she needed to figure out if it was worth the risk of letting him get too close, even if he was her soulmate.  “Get out.  Please.”  
  
He stared at her, hurt washed all across his face.  There was a small piece of her that felt guilty, that didn’t  _want_ to hurt him -- but he’d known for a whole year that Clarke was his soulmate and had time to process and figure out how he felt about it.  
  
She only just found out now, and he seemed to think that they were meant to be together.  
  
“Fine,” he replied, his eyes never leaving her, not until his hand was on the door.  She tossed him his shirt, which he caught in his free hand, but didn’t bother to put back on as he walked out the door.  
  
Clarke watched him walk away, and even though she’d asked him to do it -- hadn’t really given him a choice in the matter -- she still felt a small piece of her heart breaking as he closed the door behind him.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
Fall transformed into winter, covering Arkadia’s campus in beautiful blankets of snow.  Clarke didn’t walk to campus as often as she did in the fall and spring; she drove, and she cut down the amount of time she spent at the coffee house in half to almost non-existent.  
  
Things with Bellamy hadn’t gotten much better since the evening she’d discovered he was her soulmate -- he stopped coming by The Dropship every night she worked and she would text Monty to find out if he had a shift with Bellamy or not before getting coffee there.  She studied in the library on campus, trying to figure out if she was making a big deal about this or not.  
  
When she was a kid, she’d wanted to find her soulmate more than anything, and throughout high school, she’d hoped that her soulmate would turn out to be Lexa.  They’d made perfect sense on paper, but Clarke’s mark never grew darker or complete around the beautiful brunette, and eventually, her belief in soulmates dwindled until it was the same as the faded marks on her skin.  
  
Now that she knew it was Bellamy Blake -- the once charming, dangerously attractive barista with his dark, curly hair and dark brown eyes -- the connection wasn’t what she had thought it would be. It was a lot deeper.  
  
Even Murphy tried to convince her that she was being an idiot; that most people were  _lucky_ if they ever met their soulmate. Sure, people could date and marry someone who wasn’t their soulmate, but the connection was never as strong, and her mother always said it felt like there was a large part of you that was missing -- and maybe she’d been right.

   
Winter melted into spring, and Clarke couldn’t believe that she was getting ready to gear up for her senior year at Arkadia.  She was already thinking about fall classes and internships when she should have been studying for her finals.  But she just felt trapped, sitting here in the library  _again_ \-- she needed a break, and she needed caffeine.  
  
She decided she needed to see Bellamy.  
  
Whether or not she wanted to be with him in a relationship wasn’t part of the question.  The truth was that he was her soulmate, and her quality of life would be a lot better if he was in it, however they decided.  Even if she  _was_ attracted to him.  
  
When she arrived at the coffee house, Monty was behind the bar with Nate Miller, his boyfriend.  They’d been together for a few months, from what Clarke understood, and while they weren’t each other’s soulmates, they were still pretty happy and ridiculously cute.  
  
Bellamy, however, wasn’t standing behind the counter with his trademark smirk and his red apron, and she felt a twinge of disappointment.  
  
Still, she walked up to the counter, and after waiting in a short line, placed her order.  
  
“Clarke! We haven’t seen you in forever,” Monty greeted, grinning at her.    
  
“Yeah, I pretty much live in the library or in lab these days,” she said.  “Bellamy’s not here? Isn’t this his usual shift?”  
  
“It is, but he traded with me today,” Miller replied.  “He should be coming in in a little bit if you want to wait.”  
  
“Still a cold war between you two?” Monty asked.  
  
“I was being weak,”** she mumbled.  Monty handed her her cup, and it looked wrong, not having  _Princess_ scrawled on it in Bellamy’s messy handwriting.    
  
Monty gave her a sympathetic look, which she hated.  “You’re welcome to wait for him, obviously, or I can give him a message?”  
  
“No, it’s okay,” she replied.  She paid Miller, leaving two dollars in the tip jar.  “Thanks guys -- I’ll see you later.”  
  
Before they could say anything else, she turned and started walking out, carefully taking off the lid of her coffee cup as she did, letting some of the heat escape.  She blew on it, holding it in both of her hands as she managed to grab the door in the other.  As she walked out, she didn’t realize she was walking straight into someone -- someone with unruly dark hair and a matching moon and star tattoo on his right chest.  
  
“Bellamy,” she breathed out, before she realized that her coffee had spilled all over her clean, white shirt. “Oh, shit.”  
  
“Shit! I’m so sorry, I--” he began, and then he must have realized who he was apologizing to.  “Clarke.”  He cleared his throat.  “You okay?”  
  
“I, uh -- yeah,” she said, pulling her shirt away as it stuck to her skin.  “Fine. Sorry. I’m…”  
  
He nodded. “Good. Okay. I need to go in. My shift starts in a few minutes,” he said, clearing his throat and moving to step away from her.  
  
“Bellamy, wait,” she replied, grabbing his arm with her free hand.  He paused, looking over at her expectedly, anger and hurt flashing in his eyes.  “I’m sorry. I know I overreacted, and I shouldn’t have asked you to leave,  and I shouldn’t have gone four months without talking to you. It’s not enough, but I’m sorry.”  
  
Her heart ached as she looked up at him, and she wanted to kick herself and her stupid pride for not coming to see him sooner, for hoping he would seek her out, even though she’d been the one to kick him out of her house. All she wanted to do was wrap her arms around him tightly and never let him go because the last four months -- the last twenty-one  _years_ without him -- had been completely unbearable.  
  
He’d been the missing piece in her puzzle; the piece she didn’t even realize she was missing, and now that she knew he was there, he was  _standing right in front of her_ , she didn’t know if she could bear it if he walked away from her.  
  
Even if he did.  
  
“Please,” she whispered, and she heard the desperation in her voice. She couldn’t take the silence anymore. “I was being stupid. And I’ll be honest, I still don’t know what I want from this, from us, but… we need each other, Bellamy.  You can’t deny that.”  
  
He was silent for a while again, his dark brown eyes searching her intently, as if he was trying to memorize every inch of her face. As if he couldn’t quite believe that she was standing in front of him. “You need me?”  
  
“Yes,” she insisted. “I’ve known for a while that I’ve been missing something in my life, something important. Now I know that’s you.”  
  
“You kicked me out of your house,” he said.  “You acted like you didn’t want anything to do with me and you ignored me for four months. You can’t just show up here and apologize and expect that everything is going to be  _okay_.”  
  
“I don’t expect anything! I just… I wanted you to know how I felt.  That I…” she began, biting her lip and staring at him.  “I think I love you.  Or I think I  _could_ love you, and I’m just… I’m scared as hell and I don’t know what to do. But if you don’t want me, if you don’t need me… I understand. I know I hurt you. I never wanted to.”  
  
Bellamy looked at her again, and there was a bit of sadness in his eyes, something that showed her just how much she’d hurt him when she’d rejected them.  
  
“I’m sorry,” she whispered again. “I’ll… leave. Stay out of your way.”  
  
All she wanted to do was go home and rip this shirt off and take a shower to get the sticky taste of coffee off of her skin. There was a part of her that wanted to let the tears fall freely once she was in the shower; because suddenly, they were there, right at the edge of her eyes, threatening to spill over at any second.  
  
She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt like this, and she wanted it to be over.  
  
Clarke moved to walk away, ignoring the fact that her coffee lid had fallen onto the sidewalk when she and Bellamy collided.  
  
“Clarke,” Bellamy began, a heavy emotion in his voice -- something she couldn’t quite place.  
  
“Yeah?” she asked, though she didn’t turn to face him. She wasn’t sure if she could look at him, if he was going to break her heart the way she broke his.  
  
It was only fair.  
  
“Don’t,” he said, and his hand reached out, grabbing her free hand and tugging her closer to him. She stumbled slightly in the effort, and it reminded her of that fall night, where they were stumbling over her threshold.  She looked up at him, and his brown eyes were shining, too.  “Don’t leave.”  
  
“Okay,” she said after a moment, and the smile that broke out on his face made her heart beat faster. “Not unless you want me to.”    
  
“I won’t,” he whispered, his voice hoarse as he closed the remaining distance between them.  
  
Clarke wasn’t sure who kissed who first -- but that detail hardly seemed to matter as they kissed passionately, Bellamy wrapping a strong arm around her waist. She was careful to hold onto her coffee cup as she kissed him back, and for the first time in a long time, she felt like she was whole.  
  
Because somehow, despite the improbability of finding her soulmate and the very idea that soulmates were a myth -- they did, in fact, exist.  
  
Despite all the bullshit, and all the years of denial and attempts to disprove the theory, Clarke Griffin had never been happier than she was in that moment, when she was with her soulmate.  
  
Bellamy Blake.


End file.
